


Cake Fairies

by tsukinofaerii



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-22
Updated: 2010-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-12 02:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukinofaerii/pseuds/tsukinofaerii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his birthday, Tony wakes up to an extremely unexpected surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cake Fairies

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, DeviousLint @ DW!  
> And many thanks to Valtyr for the beta job!

The Mansion was almost entirely dark as Tony crept in through the front door and up the staircase. Dawn was, at most, an hour away, and he had to be up at eight for a meeting with the head of marketing. CEOs didn't get birthdays off. They just got parties filled with half-dressed blondes that, sadly, had to stay half-dressed. Luckily, there was always alcohol. Get everyone drunk enough, and no one remembered who you did or didn't take home, and what clothes may or may not have come off.

"Mr. Stark?" Steve stood in the doorway to the dining room, still dressed in his jogging clothes. Contrary to Tony's expectations, they weren't red, white and blue, just a simple grey with darker shorts that showed off several inches of muscled thigh. A water bottle dangled from his fingertips.

Tony froze at the top of the main staircase, cringing in pre-emptive guilt. Normally, he wouldn't care how debauched he looked. But in front of Captain America, walking in just before dawn smelling like perfume and whiskey, with his tie undone... Tony felt disturbingly reminded of the time he'd been caught in the shower by his mother. "Morning. I thought I said to call me Tony."

"Did you just get in?" Steve's broad forehead wrinkled in worry, adding another layer of guilt. He wandered deeper into the foyer, pausing at the bottom of the stairs.

"Yeah, I had a birthday party, and you know how it is." Tony hesitated by the balcony rail, glancing towards the hall that led to his bedroom and fighting the urge to hide the lipstick on his shirt. The collar would be one thing. That was innocent. But even someone only a month out of the 40s would get the meaning behind lipstick just above his belt buckle.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the banister. Damn it, he wasn't going to act like a teenager. He was an adult. If Steve didn't like it, he didn't have to deal with it. "Iron Man" was his teammate, not Tony.

"A birthday?" Below, Steve didn't seem like he was going to give it up. He didn't follow, but he rested his hand on the rail like he would. The movement of muscles under his shirt drew Tony's eyes like a vortex. The shirt was just a little too tight, the way most off the rack shirts were on Steve, drawn across the shoulders and chest. Everything looked exaggerated by the stretched cloth. Even better, Steve didn't seem to have any clue that Tony was ogling him. "Whose?"

"Mine." Tony backed towards the hall, keeping Steve in sight. Jogging clothes. What kind of man went _jogging_ at a quarter of five? "Look, I'm going to catch a few winks. Big meeting in the morning. Good night, Cap."

Steve frowned, but nodded. "Good night, Tony."

* * *

 _Beeeeeeeeeeep._

 _Beeeeeeeeeeep._

 _Beeeeeee—_

Tony slammed down the button on his alarm and groaned, pushing his face into the pillow to block out the sunlight. Another day on less than two hours of sleep. His whole body hurt, with the sort of deep ache that only came from seventy-plus hours without real rest.

Wonderful.

He braced himself and pushed upright. The slacks he hadn't bothered taking off were twisted around his calves, making it even more awkward to move. Inch by inch, Tony dragged his leaden limbs out of bed, untangling the sheets from his legs with lazy kicks. A quick shower and a shave wouldn't take too long. It wasn't like they could start without him.

Grime crusted his eyes, gluing them together. Tony rubbed at his lids, willing them to open. When they did, he blinked and rubbed them again, expecting the view to change. It didn't.

Directly across from the bed, a round cake took up the greater part of a breakfast tray on the dresser. It was obviously homemade—the layers didn't match and the white frosting was uneven and looked like it had been applied while the cake was still warm, allowing bits of chocolate to peek through.

Heart in his throat, he grabbed his shirt, checking for any openings that might have flashed armor. A glance down didn't show anything revealing, but he didn't stop until he was certain of it. When he'd gotten to his room, he'd been too tired to do more than take off his shoes, and his dress shirt was mostly buttoned and still tucked in.

Identity still secure, he levered himself the rest of the way out of bed and staggered over to the cake. It was simple, buttercream on chocolate, with a single candle stuck in the middle. In messy, slightly blurred red, someone had piped _Happy Birthday Tony_. Whoever it was—and there was really no doubt in Tony's mind _who_ , either—had thought of everything. There was even a plate, a knife and a fork.

A card was wedged under the plate. Smiling, he leaned forward and tugged it free, the bump of it making the the fork clatter a little. It was a simple little green card, with a classic but no doubt heartfelt wish for a happy birthday. And it was signed. His smile got wider as he read: Steve of course, Jan, Thor—maybe he'd stopped by, Hank—

Nick Fury.

The pen had been jabbed in so hard that it left a dent.

Carefully, Tony set the card down on the tray, trying not to jostle it in case it exploded. He ran his fingers through his hair and stared at the cheery little display, trying to puzzle the logistics of it out. It had been nearly five when he'd come in, and it would have taken at least an hour to mix and bake, then thirty minutes to cool and frost in a hurry... He must have just missed his cake-fairy by a few minutes.

No mean feat, to accomplish all of that _and_ do it with no prior planning. Shaking his head in stunned admiration, for the gesture and the effort it must have taken, Tony glanced over at the bedside clock. 7:04. Meeting was at eight, with a half-hour to get there...

Maybe he could spare a few minutes for breakfast.


End file.
